It happens to the best of us. We feel it at the end of something good or when things get blurry and you can’t tell which end is up.

Doubt. It cuts through the mist and whispers sweet fears and notions into your ear, traveling slowly to your heart where your memories turn on each other and you begin to wonder if you made it all up. If everything you felt or hoped for or dreamed of was actually just your mind playing tricks or your heart reading into things that actually were never there.

You panic, feeling the worry catch in your throat and stop your next breath. You have to know, was any of it real?

With a stumble and a sprint, you start to thumb through old pictures and stare at each of them, waiting to see if they will fade away, proof that it never happened. An old note is found, tucked in between smiles and held hands, proclaiming their love for you. You grasp it tightly and reread the simple lines over and over, just waiting for the print to disappear, to prove that your doubt is right. That it was never there. That you made it all up

That they never loved you.

But the doubt proves incorrect as you read through a year’s worth of messages and pictures, of secret wishes and shared dreams. Of hopes and happiness and the joy found in each others smiles.

It did happen, you fell in love once.  And you were loved in return.







Where is the string with which to tie my heart back together?





Even whole, the cracks and bruises of my heart are visible to those around me.

But, it’s the only one I have.

Damaged and all.